I found your opening remark that I’m politically biased interesting and inspirational:  in a word, provocative.

I’m not biased in any way whatsoever.

Some of our readers are probably choking right now on the hubris of my contented arrogance and the complacence of such willful wantonness, not to mention the hauteur of my high presumption and the Greek pride of my ignorant self-aggrandizement.  Tragic fall and next exit, right.

Not at all.

The gag is the choke hold of a ghost.  So there’s no need for a Heimlich maneuver on anyone’s mind or soul.

Consider bias.

A bias is something that’s slanted askew of the normal.  And the normal by definition is what is straight.

Deconstructionists of the French school of post-significance love to attack normality.  It’s their normal business.  After all, France is presently post-significant.  Therefore some Frenchmen earn significant incomes attempting to say so significantly.  Their specialty is neo-cavemen “contempt” for civilization.  Filthy civilization!  That’s the spirit of Rousseau still haunting human happiness, and it’s no specter.

Those with more technical substance who politically love Foucault’s reputed exposés of republican culture will recognize the geometrical human here.  Normal, they tell us, is a geometrical term.  And geometry is a fascist-capitalist straitjacket — or straightjacket!  The political purpose of geometry is not to find the truth of the universe, which is a lie, but to regiment fun-loving diversity into complaisant cadres to prevent social experimentation in dangerous uniqueness.  Only scientists should be allowed to experiment, especially those with national grants and mathematical apparatuses, and preferably if they kill or destroy something while falsifying chaos in the name of knowledge.  Those thoughts are from the English Rousseaus.  Some of them — the Wordsworths — planned to move where your family lives — at the confluence of the Susquehanna — for the Garden of Eden II.  Meanwhile, American genderologists and other sexual socialists get politically aroused at the bourgeois conversion of the word “straight” into meaning “normal” sex:  unadventurous missionary two-minute forays for the reproductive necessities of man-you-fract(ur)ing the next generation of capitalism’s command management staff.

Consider now what you’ve unintentionally agreed to in your tacit submission to a dominant concept hidden openly in an obvious word.  You say I’m biased.  Okay.  By what measure?  Something can be slanted only when measured against the reference of an upright norm.  According to what straight-up line am I slanted?  My own?  But my opinions lie evenly on their points.  From what normal, then, do I deviate, and furthermore deviate apparently to the right?  From what straight left line do I lean away uneasily like a political tower of Pisa with erectile dysfunction?

In other words, what is the secret and unsaid straight line of the left?  What is the normal for these norm-denouncing liberals?

The conceptual cunning of the left is to be admired here.  With the rigor of normality, they chaotically denounce norms as regimentally detrimental to humanity.  They call it freedom.  But I suspect it’s just Hegel’s “cunning of reason” still at work, not in God’s mind, but in the global markets.  And Marx is capitalism’s greatest if sometimes wayward prophet.  Is the American left once again unconscious, and the naïve and sentimental patsies — the marshmallow socialists — of capitalist global homogenization?  Marx celebrated the globalization obliteration of all other cultures.  Read the Manifesto!   See for yourself the dialectic of the anti-patriarch of capital!  Are the liberals just the fooled stewards of consumer efficiency?  Are they the liberators of every last person on the earth from real cultural diversity for the sake of faceless production maximization sold under the brand name Freedom! in three convenient sizes?

Of course, the right can do the same thing.  Though, as Hamilton said, conservatives do it more openly and honestly, and therefore less demagogically and with fewer hidden predilections to despotism.  (See The Federalist, #1.)

And remember the highly conservative Kant?  Truth, beauty, justice?  When I was 13 and reading the complete works of Plato — I read all the words if not quite all the ideas — I walked around repeating that old trinity of words — Truth!  Beauty!  Justice! — while feeling big intimations of large immensities, and long eternities of timeless duration, and, Oh, the wonder!  Well, nerve endings will have their needs.  And I do have some world nerves.  The question is, Who will put what name to such nerves, and adjudicate the orthography of the word?

I don’t worship words anymore, or luxuriate in the opiated intimations of their surmised semantics.  But I also don’t leave my receptors desperately unconnected.  Why?  To galactically scream with solar loneliness while comically — I mean cosmically trying to coax them with the placebos of consumption?  I marry my nerves to my ideas and my books, and to my bile and my smiles.  Artists will appreciate this technique.  “I have this amazing idea for a painting.  But it’s too beautiful for mere paint.  It’s a vision!”  A vision, probably, but a painting, no.  Paintings are the colors of passion presented to the receptors of vision.  They transmit to the aficionados of love the world views of immanent passion.

What’s especially cunning about the left’s use of moral strictures —  “You’re biased!  You filthy elitist!” — is their inconsistent insistence that “normal is nazi” and “straight is fascist”:  Sieg Recht!  That is, a single measure and solitary norm of right, true, fair, good, and just is automatically wrong, false, foul, bad, and unjust.  Good!  Excellent!!  Outstanding!!!  Republican inside and out.  But then the word “bias” can’t be used, can it?  Except by normative Nazis in juggling costumes or jogging outfits.  A word without a referent is meaningless.  Define “crooked” or “curved” without “straight”!  Of course, for random adolescents, the answer is, “Words mean whatever you mean!  I mean whatever I mean!”  Thank you, Humpty Dumpty.  Meanwhile, only outside a limited context does “everything” means anything.  And the universe is a context, and apparently quite limited.

In the meantime, just for fun, with high school nostalgia — or neuralgia! — revisit Euclid’s definition of a straight line.  Actually, I’ve already used it in this post.  (And see Reality 101 for a world of such words.)  Of course, liberals probably don’t know any of these trans-Euclidean epistemologies except as deconstructionist catechism mantras, therefore they repeat them with the endless confidence of unconscious ignorance.  Alas, the survival value of such psychology has been confirmed over and over again in nature and history.  Not cosmic truth but tribal cohesion survives.  Regimented darkness trumps unordered brilliance.  Advice?  Cross the great water.  But watch your flanks for riverine guerillas.  And monitor your rear for high tide pirates.

Remember my last post?  Remember the Einstein maneuver I did on “opinion”?  Of course I didn’t “deconstruct” opinion.  Deconstruction is a socialist wreckers’ game, a pleasant vengeance for souls with marginalized coyness syndrome.  No, I vaporized opinion.  But that’s not because I nuked the idea with the refulgent criticality of my amazing mind into a dazzling plasma.  The word always was a gas.  I just lit it for a flash with the match of an idea.  And I got a clean illumination and a little pleasant fresh air.

The same is true here.

Again, consider that I say I’m not biased.

What happens?  A ruckus of dismay.

“‘See, I told you!  I knew he thought he was better than us!’”

And no one else is biased either, I add.

Redux “huh,” right?

I think everyone is equally straight with their opinions.  And I say so.  Therefore the collective of a great republic looks like a pile of pick-up sticks.  Everyone is straight, and the collective is apparently a diverse mess.  Like artists’ studios.  Of course, the national commissars and the commissar moms never see the catallaxy in such a heap.  “Let’s straighten it out for the people’s efficiency.  Children!”  The only time a republic should be “straightened out” is in national emergencies — like wars — and then no straighter than is necessary, and for no longer than needed.  And when the crisis is over, the governmental growth should reverse itself.  And if it doesn’t, the citizens should ignore it and begin the mess again for orderly work anew.  And they should restrict tax flows to the bloat to effect the bloodless excision of a practical atrophy.  You never know when you might need that growth again.

Meanwhile, some readers might now be thinking, “What he just said isn’t true.  I know it’s not true!  I’m biased.  I lie against myself all the time in my favor.  And then I deny the lie and feel great the rest of the day!”  For republican solidarity, we’ll call that an unattractive psychology.  But at least you naturally understand Nietzsche’s psychology of self-belittling world ugliness.

Now, if there is no central metric — no platinum standard of the normal kept safe in Paris or any other place — then there can’t be any deviation from it either.  Remember my Republic?  There is no center.  There are only the changing constellations of diversified interests — the pick-up sticks — which form and are formed into evolving interest groups.  Which is correct?  Mining or manufacturing?  Banking or agriculture?  Transport or ranching?  Clearly such questions are silly.  None is right or wrong.

Does that mean that all opinions are equally valuable?  Or, as in deconstruction, valueless?  Deconstruction is nihilism for socialists.

You internally injure yourself.  Do you seek a surgeon’s opinion or the lawn guy’s?

You’re being sued.  Do you seek an attorney’s opinion or the checkout girl’s?

You’re mad at the universe.  Do you seek a guru’s opinion or a mechanic’s?  Well, you might want some mad action after getting a good drunk going.  So maybe the mechanic’s.  Afterwards, in jail though, you’ll realize your double error.  You should have consulted a philosopher.  Like Sherlock Holmes, who invented the amateur profession of Consulting Detective, someone should invent the loving profession of Consulting Philosopher, complete with wooden office desk and a glass water cooler.  And a bottle of aqua vita in the top drawer of the file cabinet.

In other words, opinions aren’t assessable.  And thus the platitude of the lazy is actually true:  All opinions are equal.  Wow!  But opinions are only equal qua opinion, and not equal per the expertise and experience behind them.  Those are assessable.  Damn!  Depth, information, extent, insight, connection, passion, wit and effect can be measured and ranked.  Thus an opinion by itself is the emotive equivalent of a word burp.  As a test of this, say which of the following is true:  “Life is good” or “Life sucks.”  Difficult, isn’t it?  Even impossible.  Such maxims are so simple as to reduce the significance of meaning to the convenience of silliness.  Meanwhile, one of my neighbors has a banner in their front yard:  “Life is crazy good.”  Hey, cover all your bases.  Plato hugs Nietzsche!  Heaven greets the goat!  Existentialism with a smiley face!  All definitely post-Kantian.

Now, not only am I not biased, and not only would I never say I am or concede the same.  I’d never say or insist that anyone else is, either: not democrats, not liberals, not socialists, not communists, not Marxists, nor anyone else.  If every verbalism is an opinion, then the word, once you know it, is nothing.  And if there’s no central upright, then all words are directed, and the compass of the word has unlimited poles.

Isn’t it nice to know that from now on, if anyone calls you biased, that you can get on with your life, and that you can even go forth with the confidence of philosophy knowing it isn’t so?  And you can then even pause to explain why it’s so to people eager for reality.  And for those who aren’t, you can pleasantly take your leave of them, and go do something more important like brush the cat or start a sauce.

You now go on to say that talking politics can be scary.  I understand the feeling.  I was once tried by a group of Marxists in an empty building at night for having false thoughts.  The trial began in the early evening.  There were three comrades seated at a plain wooden table.  Just like in the books and the movies.  The quiet and pliant people’s observer sat off to one side.  They faced me.  After five hours of detailed explorations of my many willful errors against the advancement of history and the affiliations of comradeship, I was found guilty at midnight on all charges.  Small pistols weren’t dialectically in fashion in America just then, so I wasn’t informally invited to the nearest brick wall for an exercise in freedom and progress.  One shot for freedom, two for progress.  Instead, I was abruptly released.  And they were gone.  I spent the night with a Russian ex-jockey poet — he was the passively collaborating “people” posed against me — driving hard in a attempt get to the Berkeley Free State by dawn.  The sun was up when we approached the northern border of Oakland.  And then we crossed.  We had made it.  And I was safe.  Only then did the Russian realize I never intended to dump his body in the desert, my H&R still warm in my hand, on any of the repeated stops I made in the middle of nowhere when I’d take an off ramp into the desert for a few minutes of nervous exhaustion unconsciousness.  No, he, too, was safe.  We spent the summer sharing an apartment as mutual studies in psychological recovery.  He read The Fairy Queen and I wrote philosophy.

Now, if there’s no straight line — just like the liberals say, though not as they do:  liberals typically walk their talk rather dialectically — then what’s to fear?  How can there be any angst in discussing politics if there isn’t a right — and therefore wrong — answer?

Answer:  Most people do politics the same way they do religion.

People acquire a political affiliation, adopt its insignias, chant its mantras, and stop thinking about the matter.  Actually, they probably never started thinking.  Most people lack the energy, the effort, the intelligence, the curiosity, and the drive all combined to consider such matters very far.  They’re busy and they’re bored.  And so they learn the show, and they go with the flow.  They tribally repeat the allegiance of their identity whenever called upon on cue.  And for blood allegiance, they verbally tomahawk any liars they meet, which is everyone from the next tribe, Samaritan or whatever their wrong name is.

Of course, there are political atheists just like there are religious atheists.  But as we’ve seen in an earlier post, atheism is an energetic anti-belief and therefore an active belief disposition manifesting in the psychology of concept logic.  From political as well as religious atheists you get fervid stridence and denial fervor.   From Nietzsche you get “God is dead!” and from Joe Blow you get “Politics is shit!”  Nietzsche at least, in his expletive not deleted, explains what he means by his extreme scream of cosmic shock.  And he portrays his impassioned search for traumatized believers in search of beliefs truly believable and not just some story hour in the desert of the soul.  Unfortunately, most people only hear Nietzsche’s seeming heresy and his apparent blasphemy, and so they proceed to enthusiastically scorn or energetically celebrate it.  Meanwhile, in contrast to Nietzsche, the anti-political types are just typical blow-offs who are just bitching in their beer between halves, signifying salty snacks.

I’ll tell you now what I initially thought about the presidential election results.  I heard bits and pieces of it in real time radio coverage which I tuned into occasionally throughout the evening and early morning hours.  I stay up late at night reading in bed.

For weeks before the election I figured Clinton had a 60/40 advantage over Trump.  Of course, I understand the inferential perplexities of predicting future events from past populations.  Hume and doom is the honest ontology of inductive inference!  When Trump had clearly won — the Hillary clones had had a good cry and gone home, and Clinton had begun her two-day cooling-off seclusion before even daring to appear warmly before a camera — I was somewhat surprised.  And I was very much delighted.

Why?  I’ll give you two reasons for now.

First, I score Trump a C for every day he shows up to work even if he does nothing.  He’s like the German fleet in WW II:  a fleet in being.  Half of England’s capital ships couldn’t fight in the Mediterranean or the Pacific because the Germans were tucked away in a couple of Norwegian fjords.  Trump in place does the same thing to the Clintonite liberals.  He’s there.  And they can’t do anything themselves to be able to react to any move he might make.  And Trump moves.  You’d hardly know this, though, from the national statist news coverage in America.

As for Senator Saunders, I’ve never considered him a serious socialist threat to the Republic.  In contrast, I do consider Hillary Clinton dangerous — more dangerous than even she knows.  Ted Kennedy was like that, and Huey Long before him.  Saunders has a rationalist program.  Clinton has a resenter’s vengeance.  Meanwhile, Schopenhauer’s remark on the gypsies fits Bernie perfectly.   After a thousand years of barbarian invasions, the incursion of the gypsies, the last barbarian invasion of Europe, consisted of nothing more unsettling than a bunch of pickpockets and prostitutes.  After all the 19th and 20th century surging socialist hordes, Bernie and his ilk are just socialist gypsies.  I suppose Bernie meant to pick the pocket of capital — and his colleagues do something with the Republic.  In contrast, I think of Hillary as Lady McClinton, a character like the fiend-like queen found in one of those old Shakespeare play sometimes still read in American schools, though, I’m told, now translated into English and corrected for thought.  Policy statement:  I am guided in The Gun, as I trust you are, by the Senate’s standards of no disparagement of character.  But I’m willing to suffer a temporary rebuke for the eternity of a truth for the good of the Republic.

Second, Trump’s political interests are best characterized in one word as “nationalist” rather than “conservative” or “Christian.”  We need to discuss these words and the worlds behind them someday, preferably sooner than later.  This political world attitude of Trump, when said in a word, is in accord with mine.  But one word — one word! — is hardly the basis of a civilization or its analysis, especially given the garrulous volubility of humanity and its fondness for prolix equivocation.  In contrast, for the contemporary mantras of religion and the American bitch sport of politics, a word or two might do.  “Love!  Freedom!” — But that won’t do for statesmanship and philosophy.  And that even assumes nation states are desirable.  And that the metaphysics of their existence is viable.

Meanwhile, I found your “pledge of allegiance” to Trump as “your president” interesting.  Were I somehow drafted into the American armed forces, Trump would indeed be my commander in chief.  It’s in the Constitution.  I like the Constitution.  As one of the people, the Constitution is an ongoing effort of mine:  a project of reasoned love.  But Trump isn’t my president.  Trump is the president of the United States.  I’m not the United States.  Walt Whitman sometimes confused himself with America.  But I don’t.  Whitman produced in his poetry an early attempt — himself! — at Captain America, that manly mate of Miss Liberty.  Well, in that case, not a Miss.  But Miss Liberty usually looks rather matronly anyways.  Rather sterner than free.  Not an enlisted man’s idea of liberty.  And whereas later versions of Captain America — super hero of the people’s freedom — demolish the evil enemies of America with the torsos and the brains of Hercules, Whitman spent his time rolling around in the timothy.  Or was it with Timothy?

And always remember, the presidency is permanent.  The most significant executive concern is therefore the office itself.  The president is a temp.  And philosophy isn’t an employment agency for temporary minds. Thus FDR’s and possibly Wilson’s reconfiguration of the presidency were more important to me than Obama when he was temporarily president.  And much of his “accomplishments” are now being “deconstructed” by his own methods.  Thus an armed forces relative of mine on leave over the Memorial Day week end pronounced Johnson the worst president ever — except for Obama.  I agreed that Johnson could qualify as the president who did more damage to America, domestically and internationally, than any other president in history.  Obama on the contrary, I observed, is fungible and ephemeral.  And he’s being made so more so every day.

Meanwhile, notice the obvious:  I live the bulk of my hours in American civil society, not in its governments.  America is a republic.  And so am I.

I found particularly interesting you disparagement of Trump’s cabinet as — I’m looking up your exact words — “appointees…from Backwardsville.”  That’s just what very important frequent flyers — VIFFs — say when they’re flying over the “fly-over states” from one coast to the other.  By the way, how close do you have to be to a coast to be “coast”?  Are we coast or are we toast?  Regardless, I’ll take the Great Lakes over salt water any day.  And the confluence is a delight.

By fly-over states these flighty people apparently mean most of America.  Citizens of Barkwardsville?  For rhetoric’s sake, let’s remember that Lincoln was a human log splitter.  Of course, my modern friends have hydraulic splitters, though, like love, I still do it the old way:  20 cords and going strong.  And Truman was a hat merchant.  And Regan shilled cigarettes.  Or was it detergent?  Meanwhile, Clinton was a Rhodes Scholar, and Carter a rocket scientist or something.  Who are the statesmen in this club?   And who are the time-servers looking to their legacy or eternity?

Now that I’ve enjoyed my little rhetorical refreshment off the road, let’s get back on the highway of history.  Let’s recall Ben Carson’s public remarks upon being nominated to Trump’s cabinet.  Carson said he didn’t think he was qualified to be a cabinet secretary.  That could be right.  But the reason he gave was wrong.   He said he’d never served in public office before.  You can’t believe how dismayed and disheartened I was when I heard that remark.  It’s not that the remark wasn’t contemporary or credible.  It’s precisely because it was contemporary and credible!  And I heard no one — not even Trump — publicly correct Carson’s American misstep.  Carson had stepped right in an elitist cow pie and then brown-shoed his way into the White House of the Republic.

One of the standard arguments against big Washington government asserts that the mainline parties and their wannabe players — Democrat and Republican alike — are working to create an elite class of professional politicians.

What’s wrong with that?

After all, you don’t get medical care from an unlicensed doctor, right?  Such a thing is as unthinkable as it is illegal.  And you don’t get dental care from an unlicensed dentist.  Ditto lawyers, accountants, architects, civil engineers, and even hair stylists.  Only from certified professions can you get professional services.  Except professors!  And from such professionals you can expect professional results.  Including professors!  Von Stroheim’s great film “Greed,” based on the Norris novel, McTeague, is about an unlicensed dentist caught practicing in San Francisco at the beginning of the 20th century just after state licensing was required.  He dies badly in the desert.

The extension of professional certification to politicians therefore seems reasonable.  From a certified politician you’d get professional political services.

But politics isn’t a technique.  Even Plato knew that.  And a class of politicians isn’t a family line of doctors.

Let’s say there’s a statistical tendency for the children of doctors to follow their parents into the same trade.  That seems harmless enough — except to socialists living in gated communities in the name of Humanity, or Hindus seeking to abolish the caste system for India’s humanity to catch up with history and the West, which are now the same thing.  But a family succession of politicians isn’t the same thing as a succession of proctologists.  Proctology is a private job.  Politics is state power.  The chance of a medical class happening in America is zero.  But political classes happen.  Americans are fine-tuned to that possibility, and they notice it immediately.  Two Adams.  Two Harrisons.  Two Roosevelts.  Two Bushes.  “Republic, alert!  Royalty!  Aristocracy!  Jerks in ermine and pearls!  Warning!!!”  How high is too high a risk in a republic?  Any distance from zero.

Besides the danger, politics isn’t a technique.  The essential skill of politicians is political judgement.  Can judgement be taught?  No.  Can you get a degree in judgement?  No.  Can you get certified in judgement?  No.  Can you guarantee judgement?  No.  You can get a degree in law — most American politicians have law degrees.  And you can do practical apprenticeships in legal draftsmanship.  But you can’t be taught judgement and get board-certified therein.

In other words, you can buy attorneys and scribes.  But you can’t buy judgement.

As for the state certification of professors, let’s rhetorically say that professors are in the truth business.  And politicians most certainly aren’t!  Therefore the great medieval tradition of college and university independence, which originated in the very early independent burgs and which nurtured the burghers in Germany and bourgeoisie in France, is maximally suitable in the big republic.

Back to Backwardsville.  By the way, that isn’t a secret and elite super-zip the way that Bohemian Grove isn’t really a hippie artist commune, is it?

Now, who has judgement in a republic?

The foundational answer is, “The people.”  The practical answer is, “Whoever has it.”

If the people of the United States and the states minding their business are fortunate, some of the people that actually have good judgement — hint! hint! — will run for office, get elected, and bring their good sense to the obligations and opportunities of their districts, electorates, states, and nation.

Let’s look at those fly-over states again.  The main reference here is obviously to the rust-belt de-industrialized northern regions west of the East Coast as far as the Great Lakes.  These states were rich and powerful when their industries were flourishing.  How did they lose the power and the wealth?  Tariff barriers and other national protections were reduced or eliminated in the name of “free trade.”  Where did the industrial capital of the Midwest then go?  Overseas.  Were the East Coast financial types crying?  No.  They’d put their investments in overseas manufacturing and its associated instruments.  Not only did they profit from their tariff-free and thus protected investments.  They saw the political competition from the Midwest states diminished.  And in the place of rusted and dusty cities, they offered the ever-expanding and shiny all-new greater Washington, D.C.:  “Washington, city of growth!”  Like Chicago in the 19th century.  But what a difference of culture:  driven entrepreneurs and impassioned inventors versus pension bureaucrats and contract lackeys.  A similar procedure happened to the industrial Midlands of England.  The big difference there is that Britain had an aristocracy in place whose gilt trappings were coveted by the nouveau-riche “mere” middle class.  “Lord Iron Puddling?  I’m wrought with joy!  You‘ve cast yourself with the right House!”

Bah!

In closing, let me say this.  Trump strongly campaigned for a smaller federal government.  Great.  But I‘ve heard such campaign promises from Republicans for decades.  I’m not aware that any Republican president in that time has ever stopped the growth of the national government let alone reversed it.  Not even Regan.  Of course, the Democrats never promise such a thing!  So on this point they’re the more credible party.  The goal of both parties, in effect if not always with intent, has always been the same:  the growth, the engrossment, the empowerment, and the blotation of the federal government, whether as a means, or an end, or both.  Government not as a flotation but a blotation device!  Well, I still listen to the word of national politicians, but I vigilantly watch the syntax of their feet whenever I do.

Let’s say that Trump fails in his purported plan to reduce Washington significantly, either from incapacity, or because he never intended to.  “Significantly” means structurally and permanently — and nothing less!  Should he fail, then the states should do something about it.  Can you now see the danger of the 17th Amendment to the Constitution?  That Amendment took the election of the Senate from the states and gave it their populaces.  A brilliant piece of rhetoric helped get that amendment passed — and similar changes later at the statehouse level.  “A representative government represents people, not land!”  Excellent and true!  But who says a state is a piece a land?  Or a county?  Furthermore, the people already had a chamber in Washington representing them.  Why have two chambers doing the same thing?  The main point of two chambers is to have two different bodies doing different things in separate and sometimes converging parallel.  But two houses aren’t really different if their interests are the same.  Marx could tell you that without even thinking!

Regardless, the effective power of the states and their innovative leaderships aren’t subjects much covered on the national evening news for obvious statist reasons.

But I’m reminded now of a recent state maneuver.  It illustrates the sovereign power being asserted by many of our resurgent sovereign states.  That, fellow citizens, is an insurgency to frighten the United States of Washington right to the District of its Concentration.

On the day that the legalization of marijuana went into effect in Colorado, I was expecting the DEA to mobilize complete national resources on the borders of Colorado:  swat squads, black helicopters, FBI, CIA, NRO, DIA, CRP, [redacted], and a few armored divisions “on maneuvers.”  Colorado would then capitulate — or be occupied and crushed.  But at least it would get its federal highway monies back.  Reconstruction!

But eventually I heard the silence of the Sun Tzu war that wasn’t fought.  The sovereign state of Colorado had won!  And the green jackets — the green hornets — of the DEA had buzzed off after Colorado had declared a sovereign right of its citizens to keep and bear marijuana.  “Hey, nice jacket.  You’re a cop?  Cool!  Hey, want a donut?  Oh, I’m sorry.  All we have today is brownies!”

Wow, man.  Can you believe that in America?  I mean—  What was I saying?  Oh, yeah.  States rights!  States power!  States sovereignty!  I mean, in America?  Way far, like!  Dude, really chocolate, too.  I mean choclately.  Chocolattaly?  It’s hard to do English sometimes, yannow?  Really good sh—  Damn, did you see that?  Wow!  Bob Denver’s soul just flew by.  On a full tank!  Zoom!!!

Rocky Mountain high, sovereignty!

Robert Jacques, the Republican Gun, Nietzsche’s psychology of self-belittling world ugliness

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